


simple, beautiful things

by GreenyLove



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Farmer Kita Shinsuke, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, M/M, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, Relationship Study, Sort Of, exceptionally soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenyLove/pseuds/GreenyLove
Summary: Kita loves this time of day best.(A quiet morning between the boy who comes and goes, and the boy who welcomes him back.)
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 32
Kudos: 186





	simple, beautiful things

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was written as part of a giveaway on [twitter](https://twitter.com/greenywrites) for the lovely Sam (@/kitas_lemonade) who requested atsukita + domestic fluff. 
> 
> this is my first time writing atsukita but now I love them <3 
> 
> enjoy!

Kita wakes before the sun, as always. 

His body knows the routine. He sits up on the futon, rubs the sleep easily from his eyes as his gaze drifts to the east-facing window where the sky begins to pinken above the far-off hills. Out in the yard, the chickens fuss, already eager to escape the confines of their coop. The air in the house is cool but Kita knows it won’t be, for long. Sunrise will bring humidity and heat, another day of summer.

He licks his lips, can still taste the sour musk and sweat from last night. He doesn’t always need the sun to feel warm. 

Kita’s body knows the routine but the body next to him does not. A heavy arm worms across his lap, calloused fingers slipping under the edge of his boxers. Atsumu mumbles, presses his face against Kita’s thigh, breathing deeply. 

“I’m gettin' up,” Kita warns him, firm but gentle as he lifts the arm off him. 

Atsumu smiles sleepily, eyes blinking open just long enough to meet Kita’s before fluttering back shut. “I know. Were ya gonna wake me, too?” 

“When breakfast was ready. Ya played well yesterday. Rest n' recovery are important.” 

A deep sigh, a slurred confession half-muffled by the pillow. “Yer ‘portant too.” 

That arm stretches out, hand skimming Kita’s calf as he stands, and it’s possessive but not restrictive. Atsumu lets him go. 

Kita likes that, likes that Atsumu doesn’t ask him to change, or stay when he can’t. He leans down and smooths back that dyed blonde hair, plants a kiss on the exposed forehead. His boyfriend twists his neck, tries to catch Kita’s mouth with his own, but Kita moves away, his own cheeks matching the pink sky outside. 

He washes his hands, his face. Pulls on jeans and an undershirt and a thick canvas button down, a faded green one that still smells like the garden where it hung out to dry. He shoves fingerless work gloves in his back pocket and leaves Atsumu to doze. 

Granny’s door is still closed so Kita moves quietly around the house, the air filled with the soothing hum of Granny’s oscillating fan. Kita leaves his own door cracked, knowing the smell of food cooking will rouse Atsumu. 

He opens the windows, relishes the sweet smell of a country morning, and stops to light sandalwood incense on the family shrine, bowing deeply before heading to the kitchen. 

Breakfast is simple, as always. Rice, pickled plums, cucumber salad, miso soup, grilled fish. He makes an omelet for Atsumu, knowing he needs the extra protein. Flicking on the radio while he cooks, he listens to the local news, the local weather. A clear, sunny day ahead. 

He pours two cups of tea and sets them on the table. The first time Atsumu hopped the train after an away game in Kobe to see Kita for a night, he brought a can of instant coffee and left it behind. Kita immediately gave it away — after checking the nutrition label, and sure enough, it was unsuited for a professional athlete — and Atsumu stopped complaining when Kita bought him his own tea mug, locally made with bright red foxes leaping around the rim. It sits on the shelf next to Kita’s own, waits patiently for their next stolen morning. 

Atsumu wanders out of the bedroom, still dressed down in track shorts and his soft sleep shirt, rubbing his forearm across his eyes. He slumps down next to Kita, head on his shoulder, fumbling for the chopsticks Kita silently passes him. He eats his omelet and picks other bits out of Kita’s bowls. The farmer remains unbothered; he plates their food together on purpose. This too, is routine. 

“When do ya leave?” he asks between sips of tea. 

Atsumu yawns, his jaw cracking. “By 9:00. Gotta catch the 10:15 train back t' Kobe. Bokkun’s pickin’ me up there.” 

Nodding, Kita elbows his boyfriend and points with his chopsticks at the piece of grilled fish still sitting on the plate, a wordless order to eat more. “He travelin’ separately again?” 

“Yeah. Got permission from Coach t' drop Shou-kun to the airport, then haul my ass back to Tokyo.” 

The thought of Atsumu and MSBY’s boisterous ace on the road together makes Kita smile. “Where is Hinata-san off to this time?” 

Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “Argentina, again. Some kinda ‘league ambassador’ thing. Gets to go t' some fancy dinner and shake hands with people. Lucky bastard.” 

He could point out that Atsumu wouldn’t enjoy that, not really, and also doesn’t speak as many languages as Hinata, but instead Kita hums thoughtfully and says tactfully, “He’s good for that.” 

It’s the undeniable truth, so Atsumu grunts in agreement. “Still think he just wants an excuse to see that secret lover that ain’t really a secret. And not pay for his own plane ticket.” Draining his own mug, Atsumu smacks his lips and smiles at Kita. “We'll play in Kobe again, 'n two weeks.” 

He doesn’t insist that Kita come, doesn’t beg that he make the long train ride to watch him play live. They had that conversation, once, at the very beginning of this thing between them. Kita only ever does his most diligent, his best, and so does Atsumu. 

If Kita can make it, he will, and Atsumu trusts his decisions. What they have would never work, otherwise. 

Kita stacks their dishes up and Atsumu helps carry them to the kitchen. The radio plays old folk music and Kita hums along as he flips the rice cooker to warm and leaves leftovers aside for Granny. She’ll be up before too long. 

Atsumu wanders off to the bedroom while Kita washes their bowls and plates. He returns in his team jacket, holding a pair of socks, his hair brushed and face a little more fresh. 

“Yer walkin’ the fields?” he asks, but the soft excitement in his eyes betrays him. He knows the routine. 

Kita nods, flips off the radio, his own eyes twinkling with amusement. “Come on.” 

He knows Atsumu is really asking for permission. One day, he hopes, he will know he doesn’t need to.

They grab their shoes from the genkan and put them out outside, sitting elbow to elbow on the porch just long enough to exchange a few soft kisses, before Kita hums against Atsumu’s mouth and grabs his hand. Drags him to his feet and across the yard. 

Kita loves this time of day best — the brightening sky above the grey-green fields, spreading fingers of light through orderly rows of pale rice plants in the tranquil, muddy waters. The slow awakening of the world, from the ripple of the paddy as a frog slips underwater to the glimmer of a dragonfly as it darts around. The air feels damp and clean in his lungs, and he breathes deeply, keeping Atsumu’s hand in his own. 

His hands are rough but so are Atsumu’s. Their callouses scratch but Atsumu only squeezes tighter. 

It’s slow, easy going. Kita inspects each plot, crouches on the edge of the embankment and notes where he needs to weed, where to thin out some stalks, where to address irrigation issues. Maybe he goes a little slower, even, when Atsumu is there, because these mornings are a rare, infrequent gift. 

Atsumu strolls beside him, stretches his arms above his head, leans over next to Atsumu and nods along when Kita points out signs of mildew. He won’t retain any of this information, but that’s not the point. Atsumu talks too, mentions a movie poster that reminded him of something Aran would like, or describes Osamu’s latest, very disastrous attempts to flirt with Suna. 

Normally, Kita likes the silence but he _really_ likes Atsumu. Likes the sound of his voice, likes listening to him laugh even when he scares the birds out of the brush. He relishes the blend of his new, adult life with the familiar things, like the way Atsumu sniffs a flower even though he knows it will make him sneeze, or the way he casually swings their hands between them, or the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at Kita. 

It fills Kita with something like light. Something warm and strong. He knows he can wake up tomorrow, and the next day, can fill his life with simple, beautiful things as long as Atsumu keeps coming back to share them. 

“Yer game in two weeks,” he begins as their conversation naturally lulls. They are on the far side of the fields now, sitting on the side of the path, legs stretched down the sloping hill towards the edge of the nearest paddy. 

Atsumu picks clovers and tries to tie the stems into a chain but his fingers keep mangling them, his lap covered with squished, shredded plants. His tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth and Kita presses his own palms into his thighs so he doesn’t distract him. “Yeah?” 

“If ya can stay over again, the rice should be bloomin’.” 

That perks the setter up. The rice only blooms for a few days, the fields transformed into a sea of bobbing pale white buds. It makes the whole valley fragrant like fresh earth cupped in his palms. It's fleeting but the impermanence makes it sweeter, makes him hold on just a little tighter. 

“Gonna do somethin' special?” 

“Maybe sparklers. Cook somethin' nice. Could bring back somethin' fancy from Toyooka.” 

Grass-stained fingers card through Kita’s hair, tracing the curl of his ear. Atsumu grins. “Ya want me to come stay? Might be able t' get the whole weekend.” 

“If it works,” Kita says firmly, though he cannot help leaning into Atsumu’s palm. “Don’t slack off.” 

That palm cups his jaw, draws their faces close enough to kiss. Atsumu’s mouth is warm and familiar against his own. He tastes like tea. “I’ll be here when ya want me, Shinsuke.” 

That’s the trick of it, though: Kita always wants Atsumu here. And maybe that should scare him, but it doesn’t, because loving Atsumu even from a distance is another thing that Kita has done every day for years. 

“Hey.” Atsumu kisses his nose. They’ve drifted far enough apart to look at each other properly. Kita watches the rising sun break golden and lovely across Atsumu’s face, lighting up his hair, his eyes. The heat in his smile, though, maybe that’s all because of Kita. “Yer lookin’ happy.” 

Kita kisses him in return. “I am.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments and kudos are loved. this author responds to comments <3 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/greenywrites)  
> 


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